


Agony

by Scmnz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Graphic Description of Pain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/pseuds/Scmnz
Summary: What if the body swap, inhabiting a body of such a different type of being, had hurt?





	Agony

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Crowley will never understand how that caught phrase caught on among humans. How they could consider it funny, let alone sexy. Because the answer was yes, it did hurt. It had hurt more than the human mind could ever understand.

He had fallen long ago. A mix of agony and fire and darkness surrounding him. Crowley had curled himself into a ball and wished that he would die so that the pain would end. It had never ended.

The pain, well it faded with time. You got used to it. But it never left. Not ever. Not even six THOUSAND years later. It was no longer agony, but a slow, lingering pain in his muscles, on his skin, at the tips of his wings. It was always at the edge of perception, like an ever-present itch. Crowley couldn’t even remember what it was like to not feel that.

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley sat across from one another in Crowley’s flat. It was two in the morning. They both stared at the (burnt?) scrap of prophecy on the table.

“You’re sure that’s what it means?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Well… well no, but it’s the only thing I can think of and we’re running out of time.”

He glanced around the apartment. If they were really going to attempt to swap corporeal forms, the cold stone table and hard chairs were hardly the ideal place to do it. Unfortunately, not much of the furniture in his flat was designed for comfort, the only soft space he could think of was the bed. And he could hardly suggest that though.

Crowley shrugged. “Ssupose it can’t hurt to try,” he said instead. Famous last words.

They both reached across the table and gripped each other’s hand. They hadn’t made physical contact like this in centuries. The firm, warm pressure against his palm made Crowley shiver. But he mustn’t think of that now. For the moment, he had to focus on getting them both through tomorrow alive.

They both closed their eyes and concentrated. For a moment, their essence’s mingled. It was an exhilarating feeling, and over far too quickly. They slipped past each other, and into the waiting bodies.

Crowley was immediately overwhelmed. There was a strange, blinding feeling of divinity all around him. It didn’t heart, but it filled and overloaded every available sense. The pressure of it pushed against him, as if trying to force all thoughts from his mind, everything gone except for the holy light.

He’s missed this light, the light he lost so long ago. And now he has it back and it’s all he can manage to keep himself from dissolving in it, erased by the sheer holy power.

And there’s something else. An emptiness. The burning pain at the edge of everything was gone. Crowley had wished in the past to be rid of it. But now that it was nowhere to be found? It felt wrong. Like a sense had been removed, and now he was trapped in emptiness. An aching numb feeling.

He struggled to maintain any sense of self within the waves of overpowering light. Fought to hold onto even his name, his identity, who he was and why he was here. He was failing. All that he was, slipping into the brightness. But then, just as he was about to shut down completely, Crowley heard a wail and a crash.

Forcing his eyes open, Crowley finds himself looking down at his body lying on the floor shaking. _Aziraphale!_ He can still hardly think through the sensations but he has to. Because he recognizes that expression on Aziraphale’s face. It’s the expression of agony the newly fallen wore.

* * *

Aziraphale’s essence flowed into Crowley’s body. And everything was fine, for a couple of seconds. He blinked and saw his own body across from him, eyes shut tight and frozen in place. So he had opened his new mouth, to ask Crowley what was wrong. And then the pain had hit.

Fire coursed through his veins, his bones felt molten. He was burning, but at the same time felt unbearably cold and utterly alone. Aziraphale tried to scream. He couldn’t. He tried to move, to curl in a ball around the pain and make himself as small as possible. That only made it worse, like a white-hot blade had sliced down his spine.

Even breathing sent spasms of pine to his core. The air was burning, his lungs, his body was burning _he_ was burning and it. Just. Wouldn’t. Stop.

Aziraphale forced his body to move, wrenching it from the chair. He was desperate for any sensation, anything at all, that wasn’t this pain. He fell from the chair and landed on the floor with a shout. The landing hurt, but in a blessed, earthly way. It distracted from the other, hellish pain in a way that almost felt good. He forced his head up, before slamming it against the floor, desperate for more relief.

“Aziraphale!” he heard his own voice cry out. He forced his eyes open and watched his body fall limp on the table. And then Aziraphale felt Crowley’s spirit flowing over him, felt the desperate words “It’s alright, it’ll be alright! We can swap back. I’m so sorry!”

Swap back? He could feel Crowley, frantically trying to take the body back, to get Aziraphale out and away from the pain and safe. And Aziraphale desperately wanted to let him, to be shielded from the burning. But he couldn’t. This plan might be the only way to save them both, and would not allow Crowley to be destroyed. Even if that ended up meaning an eternity enduring this, that was better than enduring eternity alone.

Crowley must have sensed some part of his resolve, because Aziraphale felt him retreat back into the body lying on the table.

* * *

Crowley forced the body to stand. It still took all his focus to stay present in the moment what with the barrage of light, but that didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered except for Aziraphale. Stupid, stubborn Aziraphale who was staying in the body that was hurting him.

He stumbled. This body’s hips were too stuff, it balanced differently and he didn’t know how to move with the extra weight. But Crowley kept going and made it around the table. He knelt by where his own body lay shaking.

Aziraphale had dug his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to ground himself. Crowley gently took the angel’s now slim hands, making them relax. He had drawn blood and the cuts were rather deep. He sighed, remembering the injuries he had caused himself after his own fall. He knows that frantic desire, the longing to feel anything that wasn’t the burning, even a different sort of pain.

He wanted to scream, to cry. The last thing he had ever wanted was for Aziraphale to go through this as well. But crying would only make the angel fret about him. Instead, he pulled him into his arms, applying firm pressure to his sides. That would be better for him than scratching up his own hands.

The yellow eyes opened, and Aziraphale pressed himself closer to Crowley with a whimper. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you” was all he could get out, as he struggled to think.

Crowley knew the body he now inhabited was warm, and soft, and comforting. He prayed, literally prayed, that that would help his angel now. “It hurts” Aziraphale choked out. A massive understatement. “I know” Crowley whispered, his voice breaking. “I know.”

What more could be said? What more could be done? All Crowley could think of was to be there, so at least Aziraphale wouldn’t have to be alone through this like he had been.

He pressed their foreheads together, looking into the distressed eyes. “I’m here angel.” Slowly, his shaking stilled. “Crowley” he breathed. And just as Crowley had thought he was used to the overwhelming light, a fresh wave of it hit him and almost knocked him to the floor. He clung tighter to the thin form in his arms.

What he was feeling, the brightness that was radiating through this space, was something he did recognize, though he hadn’t had the sense required to feel it in a long time. It was love. He shuddered realizing this, and realizing that it was Aziraphale who was producing it. Even though his pain, his pain that was Crowley’s fault, he felt like this? Impossible. Crowley knew he didn’t deserve anything of the kind.

He was crying now. They both were. They lay there, tangled up in each other on the floor, struggling to onslaughts, struggling to be strong for each other.

* * *

Hours passed, and it got easier to bear excruciatingly slowly. By the time sunlight dawn began to break they were both standing and moving about the flat, learning to pretend everything was fine, so that no one would notice that they had swapped.

It was miraculous, really, that they made it through their trials without a hitch. Even though Crowley wasn’t in physical pain, he knew every single second was another second Aziraphale was forced to go through the agony of falling. What if it was permanent? What if it destroyed the angel, and caused him to fall for real. These thoughts were shot through his consciousness like spears of ice, but they were inescapable.

Had it not been for the certain knowledge that the other would die if they failed, they could not have done it.

When they set foot back on earth they headed immediately to Crowley’s flat. They would be safe from observation there. It was difficult, near painful, for Crowley to summon the energy to teleport them there in his current state. He was developing a headache, but he knew with certainty it was nothing compared to what Aziraphale was experiencing at that moment.

When they were in the flat Crowley tried, desperately, to sense if they were being watched. It was futile, really, to try and feel anything over the sheer volume of love emanating from the angel at his side. But it didn’t matter if they were being watched, not really. He’d protect them if need be, but he wouldn’t allow Aziraphale to suffer for another second longer.

He turned and embraced the angel beside him, whose slim frame was shivering again now that he no longer had to hide it. He closed his eyes and let himself drift out of the angelic body. And this time, rather than clinging on, Aziraphale let himself be coaxed from the body. His spirit moved slowly, heavy with exhaustion.

It was sharp and jarring, moving from the onslaught of pain and fire into this void of in-between. But at least he wasn’t alone, he could feel Crowley there as well, their essences mingling together.

Aziraphale was shocked by how tired Crowley also seemed, the sluggish way his soul slithered back to its body. And he drifted back to his own body, his home.

The relief of everything he felt made his knees buckle. Crowley’s arms tightened around him, keeping him upright. He pulled them both, awkwardly, to the nearest chair where they collapsed. There wasn’t enough room for both of them. They didn’t care. Crowley’s fingers gently stroked through his curls as the demon hissed reassurance in his ear. Aziraphale allowed his old familiar form to relax, let himself snuggle closer to Crowley. It was all ok now. They were both safe now. They had saved each other.

And Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s tenderness, his love. They were together with no barriers between them at last, nothing else in the world mattered.


End file.
